


First Contact

by Say_that



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Drunken Kissing, Emotional Constipation, Everything is consensual, Half Vulcan Jon, Jon just thinks he needs to be more Vulcan and less Human, M/M, Star Trek AU, Tim just thinks they need to smooch, Touch Telepathy, alcohol consumption, and they were ROOMMATES, i guess, i wrote this in three hours and i Did Not edit it, in the academy, internalized anti-human sentiment???, lots of hand touching, luftballon99's star trek au, thats star trek canon babey, they're cadets, this is so gratuitous, vulcan heavy petting, vulcan's get inebriated through chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27071026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Say_that/pseuds/Say_that
Summary: They've got other things they should be doing. Jon should be saying that. Should be protesting. But Tim brought alcohol and chocolate and said they were going to get drunk.So they do.
Relationships: Georgie Barker/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, in the past - Relationship
Comments: 33
Kudos: 306





	First Contact

**Author's Note:**

  * For [luftballons99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luftballons99/gifts).



> Uhhhhhhh, like the tags said, I wrote this in three hours, so if there's any glaring typos please let me know! This is super inspired by tumblr user luftballon99's USS Magnus star trek au, which I am absolutely in love with, and I just had a thought and then it turned into this! So I hope you like it!

They’re drunk. Horribly, awfully, absolutely drunk. There is no reason for it, good or otherwise. Tim had simply burst into their shared room, bags filled with alcohol and chocolate in hand, and declared that since it was Friday night, they were going to drink.

Jon had no good reason to agree. It was illogical. They had assignments to work on, practical exams to study for, chores to do. He should’ve said no.

He didn’t.

It’s hard to say what order everything happened in. Somewhere between Tim making them drinks with fruit juice and vodka (which Jon considers to be barely worthy of being called an imbibable substance) and the third drink of the night, the table in front of their couch got cleared of everything on it. Tim had tried, Jon thinks, to just swipe everything off onto the floor, but Jon had insisted that doing so would make no sense, and would, in fact, be more of a hassle to clean up than simply putting their books and tablets away properly. So he took care of that while Tim set up bowls of snacks and chocolate and refilled their glasses yet again.

That was hours ago, though.

Now, it’s nearly one in the morning and Tim had demanded that Jon hold his hands up so that they could be examined in the low light of their desk lamps. They’re still seated on the couch, but the overhead lights had seemed too bright by far, so it had only been logical to turn them off and put the lamps on instead. 

Tim isn’t touching Jon’s hands, but his face is only a few inches away from the exposed palms, and Jon is trying not to read too much into it. To do otherwise would be silly. Irrational. The human half of his brain tries to tell him that reading too much into everything is what humans _do_ , but Jon retorts that while it might be what humans do, he is “ _not_ human, thank you very much, so I will not be doing that.”

Tim’s gaze quickly moves up to meet his, and Jon feels his eyebrows twitch, just barely, in confusion. Tim continues to stare at him, his lips pursing into a funny line, before he slowly, carefully says, “I...know you’re not human, Jon? I uhh, didn’t think I said you were. Or even said anything, to be honest.”

Oh. Oh, he had spoken out loud. Jon had not been aware that that was a side effect of inebriation.

“I am aware of your knowledge of this fact, Cadet Stoker,” he says, trying to hold back the flush he can feel building in his cheeks. (The answer to that flush, is, of course, to be as professional as possible. Yes, that will fix it. Perfect). Jon nods to himself, ignoring the small grin that has started to pull at Tim’s lips. “I was simply...considering something, and forgot myself for a moment. It will not happen again, I assure you.”

Tim makes an “mhm” sound, but lets the conversation rest, going back to examining Jon’s hands, though he seems to have moved an inch closer. Jon doesn’t know what the purpose of this is, but he wishes Georgie were here to explain it to him. Earth is horribly unfamiliar and he feels like he doesn’t know what he’s doing half the time. Though Tim makes that better. Makes him feel more confident in his thoughts. Like he _is_ being logical, even if it’s a bit stiff and formal to everyone else.

The scrutiny being directed at his hands keeps drawing his attention back to Tim’s face, though. To his light brown skin, which looks incredibly soft in the low light of their desk lamps, and the way his lips turn pink as he chews on them. Jon wonders if his own mouth takes on a tinge of green when he does the same. Wonders if Tim notices that. If he notices the faint traces of his veins, just barely visible on the palms of his hands. Is Tim taking note of his fingerprints? The lines of his palms? The shape of his fingers? He’s always _so_ careful not to touch Jon’s hands, always lets his own hover for a moment before he puts them on Jon’s shoulders or back, as if to give Jon a chance to move away.

Jon wishes he wouldn’t. Wishes he would just...just press his palms to the back of his neck with no warning, without checking that Jon’s skin was covered. Wishes he would let their fingers brush together. Wishes that he would...would…’

He needs to get a hold of himself. This is ridiculous. What would his grandmother think? He should have more control of himself than this. Jon shakes his head, trying to will his thoughts back into order. When he looks back at Tim, he finds him staring back.

“Yes?”

Tim startles, jerking back a bit, like he wasn’t expecting Jon to say anything. “Oh! Uh, nothing, nothing! I just got distracted for a moment, I guess. Sorry!”

Jon nods. “I see. There is no need for apology, I understand humans get “lost in thought” quite easily,” he makes quotes with his fingers when he says “lost in thought” and watches the way Tim’s eyes dart back to follow the movement of the digits, cheeks taking on a slightly deeping flush. They should both drink some water soon if they don’t want to suffer from the amount of alcohol they’ve had.

Jon is about to say so when Tim bites his lower lip and turns his gaze back to Jon, suddenly looking...guilty. It takes him by surprise, and quite against his will, Jon feels himself falter, mouth opening and closing uselessly.

“Can I,” Tim begins, interrupting himself to lick his lips. Jon’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue without much thought. “Can I...kiss...you?”

Jon snaps his gaze back up to meet Tim’s, his face aflame with heat suddenly and his heart pounding in his abdomen. “What?” he chokes out.

Tim grimaces and leans back, pushing his hands through his hair aggressively. “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have asked! Forget it, just, let’s just forget I asked and not mention it, yeah?” He makes as though to get up from the couch but Jon reaches forward, losing his balance enough that he has to hold on to the back of the furniture as he grasps the hem of Tim’s shirt in his left hand. Tim freezes, looking down at where Jon’s grabbed him, then at Jon, then back at his hand.

“H-how...how did you mean?” he stutters out, tongue thick and awkward in his mouth, as sweat gathers on the back of his neck. “Did you...I know that Terrans kiss with their...or did you mean the way V-vulcans...do?”

Jon can’t bring himself to meet Tim’s gaze, even as the human sits back down with a heavy thump, like his legs have given out. But that’s an illogical thing to think, there’s no reason Jon asking for clarification should have such an effect on Tim. There’s no reason _Jon_ should have such an effect on Tim.

After what feels like ages, but could only have been a minute at most, Tim clears his throat and waits until Jon slowly looks up to say, “Well...I’d thought...you know, doing it y-you’re way might be...interesting. If you’d want to, that is.” He looks unbearably shy, like asking to kiss Jon is taking all of his will. Jon curls his fingers tighter into the hem of Tim’s shirt.

“I suppose,” he looks down and finally makes himself release Tim and the couch, pulling his hands into his lap, “I suppose we could do that. If you’re certain.”

“I am!” Tim’s response comes fast enough to startle Jon into looking at him again, eyes wide. His mouth feels dry, so he blindly reaches towards the table and grabs the first glass he touches, bringing it to his mouth and taking a large drink from it. It’s mango and vodka, which means that it’s Tim’s drink, not his own. He puts it back down as he swallows, watching Tim watch him.

Don’t humans have a phrase for sharing drinks? He can’t remember. 

Swallowing thickly even though there’s nothing in his throat, Jon holds out his right hand, curling his ring and pinky fingers against his palm, then covering them with his thumb. He ignores the way his hand just barely shakes, staring at Tim with a boldness he does not feel. This isn’t like kissing Georgie, when they were betrothed and people expected them to, when they were allowed to look at each other with illogical fondness and stumble through the rituals of their shared heritages. There’s no reason for Jon to be offering his index and middle finger to Tim, for him to feel what he might call exhilaration (if he were braver) at the sight of Tim copying the form of his hand.

Tim’s hand is also trembling slightly, like he’s just as nervous as Jon is. And for some reason, that makes every loud, doubtful thought go quiet. He should be scared that Tim can do that. But he isn’t.

The first brush of their fingers is timid, but it sends a spark down Jon’s spine all the same. He hesitates for a second, but Tim doesn’t, pressing the first two knuckles of his fingers to Jon’s with renewed confidence. Jon stares at where they’re touching, hardly breathing, then tentatively lets himself feel Tim’s thoughts. The subject isn’t all that surprising, given what they’re doing, as he hears a whisper of Tim’s voice in his mind. But the intensity of it is -- a soft litany of, _’His skin’s so soft-what moisturizer does he use-I know it’s in a blue bottle-I’ll ask later, what does this feel like for him-is it like kissing for humans-has he kissed other humans-has he kissed like a human-would he kiss me like that, what would happen if I tangled out fingers together-what if I pressed my nails into his palm-what if I dug my fingertips into the spaces between his fingers,’_ filled with the echo of want and need and curiosity.

“I’ve only kissed one other person before!” he blurts out, then covers his mouth with his left hand, meeting Tim’s wide, startled gaze with his own. The tips of his ears must be fully green by now, but there’s nothing to be done about it. “I, I mean she...we were betrothed, but broke it off mutually a few years before I enlisted in Star Fleet. She is also...Vulcan and...Human. We...I also _kissed_ her the way humans do. She was raised on Earth, so she insisted we try, but...but no one else. Not before you.”

Jon can’t believe how earnestly he’s said all of that, can feel the embarrassment burning in his chest and throat, but Tim’s looking at him with something like awe, so maybe he did something right, saying all of that. It’s quiet, even Tim’s thoughts have paused, like he doesn’t know what to think, but he curls his fingers around Jon’s sending another jolt through him, and his knees suddenly feel weak even though they’re sitting.

Slowly, deliberately, Jon curls his fingers around Tim’s in response, biting the inside of his lip to keep himself from smiling at the way Tim’s face lights up. They both move closer to each other on the couch, knees pressing together, and Tim’s free hand settles on Jon’s thigh, fingers drawing idle patterns on the fabric of his trousers. “Can I...can I do _more_ than this?” he asks softly, tugging at Jon’s fingers to indicate what he means. Jon nods, not trusting himself to speak without saying something silly again.

Tim flashes him another grin then uncurls his fingers from Jon’s, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he presses against the seam of Jon’s index and middle finger until Jon realizes what he’s doing and makes a small space between them for Tim. Tim spreads his own enough that they can interlock their fingers, but he doesn’t move his forward, instead dragging the tips of his fingers down the sides of Jon’s, then pressing them into soft spaces between them. Jon has to remind himself to breathe after a minute, staring as Tim slides the pads of his fingers up and down the join of Jon’s fingers. His chest feels tight with more emotions than he knows how to deal with (which is more than two) and Tim’s thoughts in his head are mostly just a repetition of swear words.

Pulling his eyes away from their hands, Jon finds himself looking at Tim’s mouth instead, remembering his and Georgie’s fumbling attempts at kissing the way humans do. “Tim,” he chokes out. 

“Yeah?” Tim asks.

“I think I’d like to kiss you.” Tim looks at him, mouth a soft “o,” then wraps his left hand around the back of Jon’s head, thumb pressed to his jaw, and pulls him in close, their mouths meeting with a soft gasp that Jon can’t tell the owner of. 

There’s no shy start, like with their fingers. Instead Tim’s tongue is quickly pushing into Jon’s mouth, pressing thick and heavy against his own, then tracing the lines of his teeth, lingering on the points of his incisors. He tastes of mango and vodka and chocolate, rich and sweet and heady on Jon’s tongue, and he can’t help but moan softly into the kiss, practically melting against Tim as he tightens his fingers around Tim’s and tangles his free hand in the human’s hair.

Eventually, they move to Tim’s bed, pressed together in a tangle of limbs, shirts lost as Tim traces patterns on Jon’s bare skin with his left hand, their right hand’s trapped between their chests, fingers caught tight in each other’s grips as they breathe into each other’s mouths and whisper sweet nothings to each other.

It’s illogical, Jon knows, to feel so strongly about Tim. But when he wakes up in Tim’s arms the next morning, head pounding from the alcohol and chocolate, he can’t help but feel content.

**Author's Note:**

> if you made it through the absolute nonsense that my brain came up with and liked it, then please kudos and if you want me to write more of this then leave a comment! also, once again, if there are any typos please feel free to let me know, I did Not reread this to check for anything I spelled wrong!


End file.
